Las Fallas

So I’ve wiped the virtual dust off the virtual desk and taken it upon myself to post another entry into this blog. This past weekend I went to Valencia with my roommate Antonio and some of his friends for a massive festival called Las Fallas. Wikipedia can define it better than me:

“The name of the festival is thus the plural of falla. The word's derivation is as follows:
falla ← Vulgar Latin *facla ← Latin facula (diminutive) ← Latin fax, "torch".”

The night before we left for Valencia, I stayed in Antonio’s apartment with his family. Being very excited, I asked the family how the festival works, specifically, I asked, “Can anyone bring a Falla to the festival?”

The short silence was followed by laughter, and then to make me feel really smart Antonio got up, ran down the hall to tell his older sister and 10 year old brother about the gem that just came out my mouth, but hey, it’s all in good fun. When he comes to Vancouver I hope he asks, “Hey, can we bring our own fireworks to the Celebration of Light?”

Anyways, a Falla is basically a large structure built to celebrate San Jose, who I am assuming is the patron Saint of Valencia. These constructions are extravagantly built and highly stylized and portray whatever the designers wish. For example, I saw one with world dictators on a roller coaster, and another had Spanish politicians and stuff related to the economic crisis here. They stand anywhere from 2 metres to 30 metres tall, depending which type of Falla it is. For the city-wide competition, there are a few categories. So what happens is The Fallas are put in Valencia for about 5 or 6 days of the 20 day festival, smack dab in the city centre basically stopping all traffic. They are admired by eager foreigners such as myself and treated with a “been there done that” attitude by some Spanish people such as Tony and his friends. And at the end of the festival, they are set ablaze right then and there in the streets of Valencia.

The crazy fires are one of the reasons one goes to the Fallas, it had the same feeling as the Olympics in Vancouver, everyone was in the street, in some spots a person honestly couldn’t move and you were straight up stuck, hoping no one had Mexican (or Curry) for lunch. Also, every night for 5 nights before and up until the end of the festival, there is a massive fireworks display at 1:30 in the morning. Also, for every god damn day and on every god damn street there is a five year old with a lighter and a bag full of mighty mites, bottle rockets and no joke, airbombs (types of firecrackers). In Spanish they say “petardos”, for firecrackers, well, I say those little rats who light them 2 feet away from me are “retardos”. They also had these horrendous air bombs that didn’t fly, and made a god awful blast by one’s feet. It was like the Olympics in the sense that instead of hearing stupid amounts of 'Oh Canada' we heard were made partially deaf by stupid amounts of fireworks. Simply put, there were fireworks absolutely everywhere.

The nightly shows were amazing, I saw two of them. The fireworks were so loud that the grand finale my body shook, such a cool feeling. I think it’s because the streets are so narrow and the buildings were tall, so the combination forced the sound waves down the avenues, as opposed to the Celebration of Light which is out on English Bay. They weren’t super extravagant; it was just about the noise, really.

The daytime fireworks were really unique because you go to the city centre, wait for an hour and a bit, then at 2 pm the sky just starts going BOOM BOOM POW BOOM BOOM, oh wait; that was just the toddler beside me lighting his own stash off. At 2 pm the sky erupts with explosions of fireworks, but all you can see is the smoky aftermath. A restless blue sky, you might say.

So Saturday night for the grand finale, thousands of people gather around the various Fallas scattered throughout the Valencian streets, and wait on those very narrow streets for the La Crema (Valencian for the burning). People light off a long chain of firecrackers that's connected to the base of the gasoline soaked Falla, and at midnight two fireworks sound to announce the start of La Crema, then minutes later there is a fire 40 metres tall on a random street in Valencia. Pretty amazing. I could feel the heat on my face from probably 60 metres away. Ashes softly drop to the streets; somehow, few (or no) people get burnt. What someone worked on for ages is all of the sudden ashes and a few stubborn pieces of wood standing in the air. The air smells of smoke and exploded fireworks, firefighters are dousing nearby buildings to prevent an unexpected Falla burning, and in front of you all you can see are the LCD screens of what seems to be a thousand digital cameras held high. The fire grows taller and taller, and the smoke burns blacker and blacker into the night. And eventually, the once massive Falla is reduced to a pile of ashes.

I’ve tried to describe how the Fallas are burned but really, the pictures will do all the justice. It was very unique. After it’s just madness in the streets with people partying and drinking into the night.

SIDE NOTE: The guys I went with are an awesome group from Antonio’s hometown called Totana. The guys included me from start to finish and made we feel so welcome and comfortable. Living a whole weekend in your second language can be tough!

They’re all close and have been close for a while, so there were endless laughs and good times. The Spanish guys don’t take much too seriously, and definitely live in the moment.

Something funny about the guys I live with is that they speak horrific Spanish, and are the butt of many jokes in other parts of Spain. Not only did I learn tons of slang this weekend, I heard the difference between the proper Valencian accent versus their “panocho” accent. They tell me panocho is the dialect spoken in Murcia, their dialect. I’m assuming it’s similar to us making fun of southern accents from the states or something.

But yesterday Antonio’s friend Juan (everyone, including Antonio’s mom, calls him Capao, Spanish for “castrated”) was stopped by group in Valencia asking where the port was. He answered with a phrase that made Antonio cry laughing and rendered him speechless for like three minutes at the busy Valencian beach. I don’t quite get it but it was something along the lines of “Well.... It’s at God's ass.” He meant to say it was really really far away. Apparently it’s a phrase unique to their town, and it’s about as poorly spoken as a person can be. I’d be surprised if anyone found that anecdote funny but it was hysterical. One, for Tony’s fit of laughter, and two, for the posh-looking woman having no clue what “hanca Dios” even meant, and probably thinking Capao had something wrong with his brain.

Anyways, I hope everyone is well at home and if you took the time to read this, thank you!

A small culture shock

On my family’s big Europe trip this Christmas we made sure to get down for a day trip to Morocco. My family is big on saying “been there” about places even if it’s not much time. My pops was contemplating the three hour round-trip from Seville just to touch Portuguese soil... classic Gary. In continuing with the “been there” them, we went down to the tip of Southern Spain, and one day we took the ferry across to Morocco. Our destination was Tangier, a half hour ferry ride from Spain.

The excitement started right away, the catamaran ferry was bouncing around like a sea-doo in a big ships wake. The windows were soaked, people were bouncing around like lottery balls. Unfortunately, my dad got very very sea sick... claaaaaassic Gary. He’s ok now.

We docked in Tangier and got hooked up with our tour guide, and we were on our way. Because Morocco was constantly a European possession not too long ago, it looks very European. Tangier has wide streets, typical Spanish architecture, and cafes, bakeries, and shops (but not all of it). What made it feel different was seeing people in traditional Muslim dress, as well as the organized chaos at intersections and crosswalks between vehicles and pedestrians.

We drove through the new city, the European looking area, and then we did the walking tour through the Kasbah and Medina, the old part of the city. This was the best part of the tour, the part that looked Islamic, and the part that made you feel like you were far from home. It was tight walkways for streets, constant stairs, and people wandering everywhere, traditional oven rooms beside convenience stands. And people trying to sell you anything and everything.

The haggling was entertaining for the most part. I had mixed feelings when it was with kids though. There were quite a few kids that looked 12 or under trying the sell you stuff or just straight up begging. Do you give them money? Do you buy the junk they’re trying to sell? If you do either, do they go buy food? Does the money go to their family? Or does the person making them do it just take their coins and send them somewhere else? All of these questions raced through my mind. I would like to think the kid runs to the bakery and buys bread, but I’m pretty sceptical of that, especially after watching Slumdog Millionaire.

I’ve never been to a developing country, so it’s a bit shocking to see some young kids not in school, and working on the street selling shite out of a plastic bag, or in a cramped souk. A kid I tutor’s younger brother goes to school, plays basketball, probably runs around with other kids lucky enough to live in a developed country. He’s 10, probably a bit younger than the kid I haggled with for a Real Madrid shirt. This kid was probably 12 or so, and after chatting with his older brother and him, I got a knock off jersey for 10 euros. This was about 190 euros less than the “listed price”. Let’s just say their grasp of English hasn’t taught them the difference between 200 and 20. So after I argue about size, the kid tears off running while his bro stayed put in the cramped and unclean little souk.

About 5 minutes later, he comes back panting, smiling a crooked-toothed smile, and carrying a bag with a white shirt it in. I asked him in Spanish, “10 euros right?”

“Yes... And 1 euro for me? One euro! Come on, one euro!” He replied.

Without hesitation I forked out an extra euro, plopped in his dirty, outstretched, little hand; hoping he put it to better use than I would. He smiled and took off. It’s crazy to look a 10 year olds in Almeria, or at the school I work at, and know that just a few hours away, kids the same age are wandering the street carrying plastic bags with crap toys in them, in hopes that tourists will pay just one or two Euros for them.

Hilarious in Translation

The classes I work in are supposed to be bilingual. Usually, it’s English phrases and lots of Spanish, but the kids still learn I guess. Every teacher has a different style of English, but they are all very, very capable. For example, one teacher and I speak very well because he learned English in Chicago during university, his accent is like ours and he uses the North American words. On the other hand, another teacher who learned English in England has a lot of difficulty with my accent. Either way, we all communicate.

An excruciatingly difficult part of languages is idioms, which are expressions unique to a particular language. An idiom in English would be “I’ve had it up to here” to express frustration. So, many of the teachers I work with translate Spanish idioms directly to English. They are understandable, but not common. An example, when you call someone by name in Spanish, they say “tell me” (in Spanish). In English it’s understandable but not super common. Also, instead of responding to “how are you” with “I’m ok”, some people will say “I’m more or less”, which is a Spanish response. Or, when a little troll is being rude, I’ve heard “hey you, that is bad education!”

One “maestro” in particular is good with English, and his name is Jose Luis. In class on Tuesday with Jose Luis, I was busting a gut while the students were busting out confused expressions. When Jose Luis addresses his students in English, he raises his voice so everyone can hear. Every bilingual class starts with “I DO NOT SPEAK SPANISH ON [insert day of week here]!” When a student goes “teacher, teacher”, he responds “TELL ME!” And when it’s time for me to read/talk, he commands the little monsters to “SPREAD YOUR EARS”.

My all time favourite, is his translation for the verb “to be quiet.” When the gremlins are chatting amongst themselves during a lesson, he’ll pick out one of them and say, “WHY DON’T YOU SHUT UP?” or “HEY SHUT UP PLEASE!” In Spanish, it’s not a BFD for a teach to say shut up to a student. I suppose in most other cases it’s no biggie either, it just depends on tone.

For me, a great moment happened this same Tuesday. Going back to idioms, the kids don’t understand the phrase “make babies,” and we were discussing 3^rd world population. Jose Luis asked “WHY DOES DEVELOPING WORLD POPULATION INCREASE SO RAPIDLY?”

“[Insert blank faces here],” responded the trolls.

“WELL, IT IS BECAUSE THEY DO NOT HAVE PLAYSTATION 3 OR TELEVISION, ALL THEY HAVE TO DO IS TO MAKE BABIES. AFTER A LONG DAY IN THE FIELDS, THE MAN COMES HOME TO NO PLAYSTATION 3 AND NO TV AND SAYS ‘HONEY I’M BORED, LETS MAKE A BABY.’ THE WIFE WHO IS ALSO BORED SAYS ‘YES, WE HAVE NOTHING ELSE TO DO’. THEY DO THIS EVERYDAY. SOON, THERE IS A HIGH POPULATION BECAUSE THERE IS NO TV OR PLAYSTATION 3.”

At this point I was dying in front of the whole class because his half-yelling and tone were too funny, not to mention the material. The students had no idea what he was saying except for “TV” and “PLAYSTATION”. And he continued.

“WHEN I COME HOME I HAVE TV AND PLAYSTATION 3. I DON’T HAVE TO MAKE BABIES ALL THE TIME, I CAN ENTERTAIN MYSELF. PEOPLE IN DEVELOPED COUNTRIES HAVE MORE THINGS TO DO EVERYDAY THAN JUST MAKE BABIES. THAT IS WHY THE POPULATION IS SO HIGH IN DEVELOPING COUNTRIES. THE ONLY ACTIVITY IS TO MAKE BABIES.”

Absolutely. Hysterical (at least for me).

This was followed by him and me laughing and the 13 year old kids curiously watching the situation. The lesson continued and when we needed to spark up the energy a little bit and have the kids be a little more active he proclaimed “I AM BORED OF SPEAKING, BUT I CAN’T MAKE BABIES HERE. SOMEONE VOLUNTEER TO WRITE THEIR ANSWER ON THE BOARD.”

Maybe you didn’t find this funny, or maybe you had to be there, but his voice, the blank expressions and the explanation for population explosion was absolutely priceless.

For you Lord Tweedsmuir people reading Josh Friend’s blog, he is a Mr Nebor or Mr Gemmell type figure within the school. Whether he’s annoying the shit outta them (Gemmell) or being Mr Popular (Nebor), kids are big fans. So many of my bilingual classes are so blah because the kids are a bit afraid to speak out loud, or material is a little bit difficult. I look forward to the unorthodox classes with Jose Luis because the kids relax more and you can actually get to know them, and he teaches well.

On a completely different note, my class of 12 year olds all call me “Josh Friend!”

Everyday it’s “Hola Josh Friend!”, or “Help me Josh Friend!”

PS – Unlike us, the kids call their teachers “Maestro” which means teacher, and nothing else. No name or last name. It’s like heaven for the guy from Seinfeld.

The Caves

The other day I went to a lunch that was (at least for me) a truly bizarre experience. I was told we were going for a rabbit lunch in a small town near El Alquian. The town is called Las Cuevas which means The Caves. I thought why would a town be called The Caves (and seriously, rabbit lunch?)? I soon found out that’s because it has many houses are built into caves that people still live in.

After school, I hopped into the car with Stefan and Jose Luis and we got off the highway and took a windy uphill road to a little village that was like something out of a movie. The village had a few windy, unnamed roads that passed by houses and cafes scattered in between a few cactus dotted hills. It looked to me as if there were no building regulations, a thought that was confirmed by Jose Luis. Because the village was so old, there was no point in changing anything now and back when it was settled, people built as they pleased. So I saw houses on top of the hills, dwellings in the hills (for the cave people), and houses along the winding/hilly roads that connected this jumbled development. Enough of that for now, on to the main event, the innocent little rabbit.

I’ve had Spanish food before, such as paella, tortilla, and tons of little tapas. But all of them were ingredients I’ve eaten before, just prepared differently. This was real encounter with traditional Spanish cooking. Before this, I’ve only ever seen rabbits on cool mornings working outside, not on my dinner plate. We ordered rounds of beer and then in what felt like no time the owners of the restaurant (which was not in a cave) brought these gargantuan bowls filled almost to the top. Think of your biggest salad bowl, then think of it filled almost to the brim with garlic, potatoes, rabbit, and olive oil. Then picture 11 people having to take on this monumental task.

Traditional rabbit is called conejo al ajo, which means garlic rabbit. The rabbit is cut and roasted in olive oil with whole garlic cloves, sliced potatoes, and if it’s possible, more olive oil (I miss butter). The result is very flavourful meat with a hint of garlic. The rabbit was a bit gamey, but not too bitter, and a lot more tender than I had expected. All in all, it was easily the best and biggest lunch I’ve had since I got here.

Now back to the village known as The Caves. It appeared no one lived there, but for those who did, I couldn’t imagine it was an easy life. I figure it’s a mixture of constant walking/driving narrow, hilly, and windy roads, being far away from day-to-day necessities and conveniences, and surely having to travel far distances to work or school.

I still can’t get over the cave dwellings. How big could it possibly be? I didn’t go to a front door to knock and investigate, but I should have. Are the walls made of stone? Does everyone’s voice echo all the time? How does one acquire a cave house? All questions that rolled through my mind.

All in all, the only way to describe Las Cuevas is picturesque. It’s steep desert hills, covered in cactuses and brush, and windy roads that go according to the land, not according to a developer. It’s houses of all shapes, sizes, and colours that are in the hills or on them. It’s a glimpse of old Spain before the modern times. It’s nothing I have ever seen before.

My place in Almeria

Finally, I've given my head a shake and taken pictures of my place so you guys can see where I live. You might say this is my first "phlog". It's photos from the apartment I share with Francisco and Antonio.

Our messy and tiny kitchen

The entry

The living room

The living/dining room

My new wheels

Our street

Our view to the left

Our balcony

Antonio's room

Our bathroom

Fran's room

My Room

Soon I'll put up some pictures of the city and of my school. I'm pretty happy with the flat, the only problem is that our tiny little kitchen gets used a lot between the three of us, and it gets really messy after one meal's worth of dishes, it's such a pain. But otherwise, it's a pretty sweet place!

What do I do at work?

This week has been my first full "workweek" since arriving in Almeria. I've assisted in lessons and given lessons. I've made mistakes, had minor successes and learned quite a bit about myself, and my students.

My kryptonite while giving lessons has been - my mom's gonna love this - that I talk too fast and do not pronounce words I don't deem worthy of properly saying. This terrible teaching style (which only lasted for one day) caused the kids to struggle to understand my accent, not understand my lesson, and look at me like I had 3 freakin' heads. Now when I give a lesson I feel like the old uncle in Christmas Vacation, "GRAAAACE... THEE BLEEESSSSING" (that's how I type proper volume and pronunciation needed for teaching).

As for a minor successes, I'm starting to build rapport with the kids. I still have no idea anyone's name, I think I see somewhere around 60-70 kids a week. Some classes, I simply help kids read/practice speaking, and assist the teacher with classwork. Other days, I give full lessons in simple English. Those days, the kids have to listen to and read the material, then volunteer to read it aloud to practise their accent, then do a basic activity. They're generally too shy for their own good when it comes to speaking. When I review their answers to questions on paper, it's usually very good, but not all of them care enough/like to read out loud.

A sweet part of my job is something called "conversation hours". It's where you more or less throw lesson plans out of the window and meet with people or a class and just practice speaking . I have two of them with teachers, and one with a class. Today, for instance, Me and a teacher Jose Luis went to a bar super close to school and had beers and ate tapas and just talked about whatever we wanted. Jose Luis is a social studies teacher who speaks English very well, but wants to improve because being a bilingual teacher in Spain greatly helps your job prospects. I got paid to do it, he paid for the drinks, all in all a pretty sweet deal!

I've also picked up a couple tutoring jobs on the side for extra cash. The government down here isn't going to pay us until mid-November. There's not much urgency down here, Andalusia is like hell for impatient people such as myself. There's a great laid-back attitude of "we'll do it tomorrow, no big deal" down here. However, when one has to open a bank account, get a residence card and extend their student visa, it's a pain to have to wait! I want it done today, but it just doesn't happen like that around here.

Almeria and the Livin's Easy

My placement for my new job teaching English sent me to Almeria, Spain. Almeria is in Andalucia, mainland Spain's southern region renowned for tapas, bullfights, flamenco, and sun. Almeria itself is on the southeast corner of the Iberian Peninsula, and it happens to be Europe's only official desert.

This means that it's October 11th and it was 25 degrees and sunny today here. It's still beach weather! It was still low 30s last week and sunny. Another plus of the scenery around here (at least for BC people) is that the surrounding hills have the exact same colour as the Okanagan, which provide some pseudo-sense of home. The beaches are guarded by a palm-lined promenade and it's windy constantly. Coming from Vancouver, I feel like I've climate-died, skipped "temperate rainforest" purgatory, and gone to weather heaven.

Now, my job title is "Auxiliar en Conversacion", which translates to "Awesome Teacher"... or conversation assistant, you pick which one. I work at a high school called IES El Alquian, which is about 15 minutes from Almeria by car, about 45 by bus [I didn't public transit-die and go to transport heaven, but hey, the weather still rocks]. El Alquian itself is actually a small village on the outskirts of Almeria of somewhere around 2,000 people I believe. Most of the students come from small pueblos located in the near countryside that is littered with greenhouses. IES El Alquian has about 500 students and somewhere around 30-40 staff members.

It's a bilingual school, so my job has me teaching more than English class in English. I work with 5 teachers, and help teach social studies, English, biology and workshop. I teach kids ranging 12-17 in age. Some classes have an open hour of casual conversation, while some have English lessons on Canadian-relevant subjects. Here, people are not used to Canadian people or our accent, which I'm told is not easy to understand!

Back to Almeria, it's a very laid-back comfortable place to be. It makes it easier to acclimatize when one has not only moved out from home, one has moved out to another continent. Here, a 2 hour siesta still holds precedent over the city every afternoon. People are in no rush, and everyone I've dealt with has been very friendly. Contrary to home, I haven't seen: a person in a suit, a person speedwalking along the sidewalk, a person carrying takeout breakfast or a to-go paper cup in the morning. Everyone seems to enjoy meals in a timely fashion, and they'll get to their destination when they get to their destination (holiday mode all year round).

Shortly after arriving, my friend Sergio from school, who was tremendously helpful upon my arrival, helped me find accommodation. I stayed a few nights in the youth hostel, then one day at the beach, Sergio and I collided and he said "I got the perfect place for you."

Right now I'm writing this entry from said perfect place. I'm in a neighbourhood (barrio) of Almeria called "Zapillo". It's a mainly residential area along the city's main beach and is dominated by ma and pa cafes, restaurants, and tapas bars. As long as you buy a drink around here, your food is included in the drink's price, it's fantastic. You can sample fantastic Spanish cuisine and lots of, a sleeve of good beer is only 2.50 Canadian. Anyways, My place is a 3 bedroom apartment, with a spacious living room, dining room and kitchen, and it was fully furnished. I have 2 Spanish roommates, Francisco (Fran) and Antonio (Niko), who go to the University of Almeria.

Our view's not too bad, either...